Stitches
by Zefyria Nuva
Summary: Things always fall into place. Past...present...future...every moment is tied neatly to the next, and the people who live them are the threads that stitch them together. /Various pairings. Will be updated sporadically according to inspiration.\
1. Knowing

Welcome to the mishmash of drabbles and odd moments collectively known as Stitches! I saw the movie last Saturday, and to put it plainly, I fell in love. And I've been working on a couple of these silly little things ever since. This is the first one I've actually finished, so this is the first one I'm putting up--more should be on the way soon. Until then, enjoy! And critiques are greatly appreciated. I like hearing people tell me what I did wrong in polite and intelligent ways so that I can fix it next time. :)

**Disclaimer:** 9 belongs to Shane Acker and Focus Features, not me. Though that would be pretty cool...

**NOTES:**

...Don't ask where Six/twins pairing came from, I honestly don't know. It has zero implication in the movie. I just thought it would be absolutely adorable and fun to write--and whaddaya know, it is! xD

Also, from everything I've heard/found, the twins really have no gender--they're sort of ambiguous on purpose. So I'm going to _try_ to avoid the use of gender-related pronouns wherever those two are involved. But just so y'all know, in my personal canon for this particular drabble series thing, they're both girls. (...I think. xD)

* * *

**Knowing**

Six had loved the twins.

They were older than him in number, but it rarely seemed that way. They'd been innocent and curious beyond belief when they arrived, examining and cataloging everything in sight, while his introduction to the church had consisted of him running and hiding in the darkest corner he could find. The bright flashes of light from their optics as they committed everything that _was_ to memory had intrigued him from the moment he first saw them—but he'd been too afraid to approach them. He was wary of others, especially after the reactions he'd received from his companions the first time they had found him in the midst of a vision.

_"What is he doing?!"_

_"Look at him, he's shaking!"_

_"He's gone mad! Hold him back!"_

_"OWW! Hey, those things are sharp!!!"_

He hadn't meant to slash those holes in Eight's side, but the burly stitchpunk had been trying to restrain his arms, and he had to finish the drawings. _Had_ to. It was more than a mere compulsion—he couldn't control it, or block it. When the visions took over, he _had_ no control, only the drive to _draw._ And the drawings were important. Nothing could get in their way.

Of course, he regretted it afterward. Eight had never really forgiven him, and One thought the young stitchpunk was completely insane. Even Two, Five, and Seven had avoided him for some time after the incident, giving him wide berth during his few excursions from his dark corner of the tower. It had taken quite a lot of time to prove to them all that he wasn't just a madman...time, and the intervention of Three and Four.

They had arrived at the edge of his safe, dark haven without a word (of course not, they never spoke to anyone), the faint clacking of their optic shutters startling him enough to make him knock over his bottle of ink. When he whirled to stare at them, their heads were tilted to the side in identical expressions of curiosity, optics still flashing rapidly as they took in every detail of the room and its sole inhabitant.

They'd wanted to know about his drawings. That much he had figured out quickly, as they spent almost five minutes examining those alone. But after that, they simply sat by the wall and _looked_ at him for a few long minutes as he self-consciously fiddled with inks and drew his pictures. Not the pictures from his visions—he didn't like those much, they were always full of despair and darkness—but of other things that came to mind, the ones that would just bubble up from a feeling and spill out onto the paper.

And then without warning, the twins' strange, light-filled optics were projecting pictures of things _they_ had seen from their books, truer representations of the things he'd been drawing before. It had surprised him at first that they could even decipher his clumsy sketches, but the surprise was quickly replaced by a strange, warm feeling he had never experienced before. The three of them sat there for hours and hours on end that first day, Six drawing pictures on every surface he could find, Three and Four delving into their extensive collection of memories and teaching him about the things he'd drawn.

One had immediately disapproved of the twins visiting him, of course, but there was really nothing the elder could do to stop them. Every moment they weren't poring over some new find or out looking for artifacts themselves (always under Seven's supervision, though this was yet another thing One greatly disapproved of), they were with Six. And Six had welcomed their company, despite being unable to understand a word they said most of the time. His poor, scrambled processor couldn't keep up with all the images they flickered through at once, and they often forgot to slow down for him. But he didn't mind—at least they were trying to talk to him at all. He appreciated that effort; even the Scientist had never actually tried to communicate with him, simply letting him do whatever he wanted before releasing him into the world.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that the twins began to bring others to visit him—first bold Seven, then inquisitive Two, then shy Five. Six had no idea how to talk to them at first, but none of them seemed to mind, and their repeated visits (with the twins always bouncing at their heels) slowly began to open him up to the miniature world outside of his dark corner. He was still afraid of Eight and wary of One, but the other three welcomed him, and he found himself happier than he had ever been. Even when he was alone and the darkest visions took him, he could never be depressed for long; by the time he woke, shaking from fear and exhaustion, there were others there to comfort him. The exact identity of those others varied depending on who was nearby at the time of his visions, but there was one thing that remained constant no matter what: The presence of Three and Four.

Six never could figure out how they knew when he was having a vision. Even if they were across the church when he was taken, they were always beside him when he was released, sometimes with one or more of the others and sometimes by themselves. They were the ones who caught him before he could collapse, and they simply _held_ him until he could move again. And it was in those moments, when the two of them would sit huddled on either side of him, leaning so that each one's head rested lightly on his shoulders, that Six realized exactly how much they were coming to mean to him...and how much he would miss them when they were gone.

He'd already known they were going to leave. He'd seen it ages ago—they would go with Seven, and Seven would lead them to a place where they could find the answers they so desperately sought. She would protect them, and they would continue to learn and grow, away from Eight's intimidation and One's strangle-hold on them all. But that didn't make it ache any less in the days after, when he would have to remind himself they were gone and feel so crushingly _alone._ Two and Five were still kind to him (they even asked him to sketch blueprints for their inventions on occasion, and Six was honored to comply), but it simply wasn't the same. He missed the way the twins would barrel in, tumbling all over one another, when they had found something new and exciting to show him. He missed their steadying presence after his visions, when all he needed was something to keep him anchored to the world. And he just...missed _them._

But they would return, all three of them. He had seen that, as well. It would only be for a short time—but when the Savior came, the one the Maker would call Nine, they would come back. And even though their "Savior" would do as much harm as he did help, Six didn't care. Nine's intentions were good...and he would bring the twins back.

Six would be able to see them one last time.

And that was all that really mattered.


	2. When I Am Silent

Welcome all to the second chapter of Stitches! Before I say anything else, I have to thank everybody who reviewed for their feedback--I don't think I've ever had so much response in such a short time. THANK YOU! Secondly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to ChibiJaime, who slapped me upside the head with this pairing and said "YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT." And she was absolutely right. xD

**NOTES:**

So this takes place about the same period of time as Knowing, and it's Five/Seven and suuuuper fluffy. If you don't like it, then something is WRONG WITH YOU--er, I mean, don't read it. xD

Apologies in advance if the ideas seem a little disconnected. I'm not entirely sure how to fix that. xD;;; Also, feel free to shoot ideas and tidbits my way! I love hearing your opinions, and who knows, you might just inspire the next chapter!

* * *

**When I Am Silent**

At first, Five wasn't sure what had woken him up. In fact, he didn't even remember when he'd fallen asleep. The last thing he knew, he'd been sitting underneath his and Two's telescope, waiting for the sun to set. He loved seeing, on those rare days when the clouds drew back just enough, how the colors exploded in the sky like a rainbow gone mad—and even when he couldn't see those, the retreating light gave him a strange sense of peace and closure. Sunset was one of the only things he could be sure of in this crazy world, and he watched it every day, appreciating the sense of peace and closure it gave him.

Today had been a long day, however. Six had been taken by another one of his strange visions, and Three and Four had dragged Five along to take care of the poor artist. This of course had led to another of One's rants about how loud and obnoxious the whining was, and how they should do something about it before he led the machines right to them. After that debacle, once they were sure Six was recovering properly, Two had asked him to head out into the Emptiness and look for useful scraps, where they'd had a close encounter with the Cat Beast and had to stay hidden for almost an hour before it retreated and they could return home. By that time it was almost sunset, and Five had climbed up to the watchtower as he always did—but it was obvious to him now that he'd missed it, as he had fallen asleep right where he sat.

It wasn't until a few seconds later that Five realized what it was that had woken him up. Said realization came in the form of Seven's ghostly white figure appearing at the edge of the tower, laying her spear to the side. Five froze, hardly daring to breathe as she sat only a few feet away from him, legs dangling over the edge; she hadn't noticed he was here. Maybe if he was quiet...

Seven gazed out into the darkness for a long time, and Five could barely keep himself still. He was definitely not inclined toward making her mad...but he also didn't want to leave. Some dark, rarely-used part of his mind held him frozen in place against his better judgment as she let out a fluttering sigh, gazed up at the dull clouds, and began to sing.

"_Who will sing my song when I am silent?  
__Who will count the colors of the dawn?  
__Who will follow the lark's flight?  
__Who will hear its song?_

_When I am silent...  
__Who will sing for me?_"

Five allowed himself a guilty moment to admire the lilt of her voice; she was a surprisingly good singer. He wouldn't have thought such a fierce warrior, even one as beautiful as Seven, could possibly sound so _gentle._ Then the moment had passed, and the actual words of the song began to sink in.

"_Who will scent the fragrance of a flower?  
__Who will laugh at snowflakes on the tongue?  
__Who will dance barefoot in the grass,  
__Spinning and twirling and spinning and twirling to welcome the warmth of May?_"

Before he knew it was happening, a soft, mournful sound had escaped him. Mortified, he clapped his hands over his mouth—but it was too late. Seven jolted upright as though stung, reaching for her spear. "Who's there?!"

"N-Nobody!" Five cringed, both at the stammer in his voice and the idiotic response. What was he _thinking?_ She was going to _kill_ him!

Seven glared into the shadows, making him cringe a little. "Five, what in the Maker's name are you _doing_ back there?"

"Erm...well, I was waiting for the sunset, and, uh..." Five stood up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I fell asleep...and then you woke me up, but I didn't want to bother you...so..."

Seven sighed, letting go of her spear. "You should've warned me you were here," she muttered, resting her chin on her palm and turning her gaze back out to the sky.

Silence. Five shuffled his feet a little, trying to look anywhere but at her, but it was hard to do when she was right there in front of him. He didn't see her often, except for when they were with Six—and even then he rarely got the chance to have a real conversation with her, as they were both too busy trying to make sure the vision-plagued artist came back from the brink with his sanity intact. But from the few times they had spoken, Five had felt his admiration for her grow. She was strong but kind, and _brave,_ always standing up to One when his micro-managing got out of control and Eight when his bullying went too far. And she wasn't all warrior; she was practically a mother to the twins, and had a certain affection for the concept of flight. But she had always seemed so distant, at least to him...and maybe now he was beginning to figure out why.

He hesitated, then crept a little closer. "That song," he said timidly, trying not to wince as her optics jerked back to meet his. "How does the rest of it go?"

Seven scrutinized him for a long moment; Five got the shivery feeling that he was being judged, weighed against some standard she had set. Then she looked out into the darkness again, lenses drifting shut.

"_Who will dance  
__When I dance no more?  
__When I sing no more...  
__When I am silent..._

_Who will cry for me?_

_Who will cry...?_"

Her voice wavered a little, then fell away—and it was then that Five saw the expression on her face. She didn't look like the confident war-goddess he knew. She looked...lost.

He stared at her, mind racing as things began to click together in his mind. Two had always told him he was good at solving puzzles, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to this one, but it was coming together on its own accord, the solution flooding inexorably into his mind.

"I would."

Seven's optics snapped open. She stared at him, caught completely off-guard. "What?"

If he'd been able to, Five would have been blushing awkwardly. As it was, he could only look away, tugging nervously at the stitches on his eye patch. "I mean...I know we can't actually cry, but...umm, well...you know what I mean..." He trailed off, casting a sidelong glance at Seven. She was staring at him again, her gaze sharp and piercing, and the shivery feeling of being _judged_ came back to him, but she said nothing...and that heavy silence told him everything she didn't. He hunched his shoulders, turning away. "S-Sorry...umm...I'll just go..."

"No, _I'll_ go." Seven stood, reaching for her spear. Her voice was brisk and cold, and her eyes never met his. "I won't force you out of your own tower. You should get back to sleep. Sorry for disturbing you."

Five could only watch, helpless, as she strode toward the lift. Why, _why_ did it always have to end like this? Every time he thought he was close, she slipped away from him again. Why did he always have to watch in silence as she walked away, and remember that he'd never had a chance?

His hand snapped out to catch hers, gripping it tightly. "Wait."

She stopped and turned, startled, but Five's voice had failed him again. He struggled to find the words, _any_ words—anything that could possibly keep her from walking away _again,_ especially now that he knew why she always left.

"You don't have to be alone," he mumbled, looking away. "I...umm...if you need someone to talk to..." He took a deep breath. "You can always come find me, okay? I mean...it's not like I'm going anywhere, right?" An awkward laugh escaped him before he could stop it, and he winced inwardly at how lame he must sound.

A gentle squeeze on his hand made him look up—and he was shocked to see that she was smiling.

_Smiling._

At _him._

"Thank you."

She pulled free of his grasp and stepped onto the lift, disappearing into the darkness below with a quiet _whirr_ of gears and leaving Five alone again. But this time he didn't mind so much; he stared at his hand, quietly in awe of the warmth that curled, soft and trembling, in his chest.

She would be back.


	3. Inkspots

Chapter three, woohoo! I think this is the most I've ever worked on a fanfic since seventh grade...xDDD Thank you for reviewing, everybody, it really is a spirit-lift! Hope you enjoy this next bit!

**Notes:**

I swear, I didn't actually intend to write about these two again so soon. But nonsequiturmetus over on the 9 forum slapped me with Six and the sadflower in pchat a couple nights ago, and I had to write this. Why Five? ...I have noooo idea. xDDD Not intended to be slashy, but take as you will. :D

Also: I KNOW IT'S TOTALLY IMPLAUSIBLE/IMPOSSIBLE. Don't flame me please. x.x

* * *

**Inkspots**

"Hey, Six, Two wants to know if you can..." Five's voice trailed off into stunned silence, optics widening as he tried to figure out exactly what it was he'd just walked in on. Six was muttering to himself, nib-fingers scratching against a piece of paper—that wasn't surprising. What startled the inventor was the size of the drawing he was working on, and the unexplained riot of _color_ on the page.

To be fair, it wasn't exactly a _riot_, as there was only one extra color. But it was still out-of-the-ordinary for the younger stitchpunk, who, as far as Five knew, always drew in black. Always. The twins had found him a bottle of blue ink once, and he had never used it—it remained even now closed and full in the corner of his niche. But here he was, black ink dripping down one arm, pink down the other, scribbling on a page twice as large as he was with all seriousness.

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing." Six didn't look up from the page, simply reaching over to dip his fingers into a shallow dish beside the paper. That provoked another observation from Five; the black ink was in a bottle, as usual, but the pink wasn't. It was in a little bowl, and it didn't look smooth—some parts were lumpy, some thin, as though someone had forgotten to mix it properly. Not that Five would, know, he had never made ink before...

Five furrowed his brows as something clicked in his mind. "Did you _make_ that ink?"

"Yep." Six reached for the pink again, prodding at a lump floating in the center before dipping his fingers in. "Three and Four found a book for me. How to make ink. I wanted to do it."

Cautiously, so as no to upset the bottle or the bowl, Five crept closer. He couldn't see the picture, as Six was sitting on most of it, but he was curious as to why the artist had suddenly broken such a long-standing habit. "How, though? There's nothing to make ink from out in the Emptiness, is there?"

"Flowers." Six paused for a moment, then smiled. "They were pretty. You would have liked to see them."

Five blinked, his mind going blank for a fraction of an instant. Then, slowly, comprehension began to dawn on him...and it was a sick, aching sort of comprehension he didn't want to have. "You...found flowers? Where?"

"Outside. A special place. Hidden away." Six reached for the black now, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he continued to sketch. "Pulled them out with me. They really were pretty."

The sick feeling increased, and when Five spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "And you made _ink_ out of them?"

"Yep." Six smiled fondly at the little dish. "Not very good ink. Probably should've gotten Eight to help." He paused, mulling over that thought for moment, then shook his head. "Hmm. Never mind. Bad idea."

Appalled by the younger stitchpunk's completely unconcerned tone, Five grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away from the paper. "How could you do that?! Those flowers...you killed them! They were alive like us, and you _killed_ them to make _ink!_"

Six stared blankly at him, then knitted his brows, his expression growing troubled. "No," he said softly, running a finger along the edge of the dish. "Not like us. Not at all."

"They were still _alive!_" Five wasn't entirely sure why he was so upset over this whole thing—all he knew was that he was having a hard time resisting the urge to reach out and throttle the artist for _completely missing the point._ Some deep part of him screamed that what Six had done was a terrible crime, and he didn't even understand. "You can't just kill living things because you _want_ to!"

"But they were already dying..." Six sat back on his heels, the troubled expression growing more profound. "They would die whether I was there or not. But I can help them live. Look!"

He pulled his hand away from the paper, and Five found himself looking at a vast field of flowers, stretching endlessly into the background of the page. Every single petal was exquisitely detailed, to the point where they almost seemed to quiver in some imaginary breeze, kissed by dew and the morning sun. Beneath them, the ground was in shadow; innumerable stems and leaves drawn in black created a strange sense of darkness, contrasting sharply with the delicate pink of the petals.

"Everything alive dies," Six murmured, stroking the paper. "Every second...whenever they live, they're always closer to death. That's just how things work. But now they'll live forever, because every time I look at this picture, I'll think about them and remember them. And so will you. And so will everyone else who ever sees it. So they stay alive in our hearts."

It wasn't the same. The small, dark part of Five's mind clamored that Six was _wrong,_ that what he had done was unforgivable. But the rest of him listened, and began to understand. Somehow, in his own strange little way, Six _had_ saved the flowers...they hadn't been destroyed, not really. They'd been transmuted, from something fragile and living to something enduring in death. Something that anyone who saw it _would_ remember.

"Six," he said slowly as another, overlooked piece of the puzzle clicked neatly into place, "how often do you draw pictures of all of us?"

A shy smile touched Six's face, but he didn't answer.


	4. Weight

Sorry it's been so long, guys--school kinda ate me alive. I've had this little scene on the backburner for some time now, so since I actually have no homework this weekend, I decided to sit down and finish it off for ya. Enjoy! And remember, guys, if any of you have ideas for chapters, I'd be glad to hear them!

This chapter is dedicated to all my friends on the 9 pchat. You guys make my LIFE. X3

**NOTES:**

No pairing intended here, but take as you will. I imagine here that One is a couple months old by now, and Two is maybe three or four weeks old. I know this probably has no standing in canon, but I'm sure that One wasn't _always_ a bossy old codger. This is how I imagine he _used_ to be. xDDD

* * *

**Weight**

"_Two!_" The frantic cry echoed across the courtyard as One scrambled over yet another pile of debris, ignoring the faint but insistent pain that shot down his spine. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. They'd been _safe,_ completely overlooked by everything and everyone around them, and now—

"Here," came the weak reply. One sprinted toward the sound, shifting through the rubble and hauling aside a plank of wood almost twice as thick as he was to get at his friend. His optics widened; Two's burlap "skin" was torn open from the waist all the way down one of his legs, though whether the damage had come from the cat-like machine's initial attack, the swipe that had sent the young stitchpunk crashing into the pile of debris, or both, he couldn't tell.

Two smiled tightly at the shocked look on his companion's face. "It's not as bad as it looks." His voice wobbled a little, then steadied again. "Just a little tear, I can fix it. I just need to find some thread."

"It'll have to wait." One was momentarily surprised at the steadiness in his own voice—he was glad Two hadn't been hurt badly, but the sight of the cloth flapping open to reveal scratched, dull metal made him feel a little queasy. "We have to get out of here first. That thing could come back at any minute."

Two nodded a little, gathering himself to stand. One caught his arm as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, and together the two of them began to make their way toward the cover of the nearest building, the older half-supporting, half-carrying the younger.

After a few moments of walking in silence, Two lowered his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, subdued.

One frowned at him for a moment, then gently patted his shoulder. "Don't apologize. You couldn't have known."

"But I should've been more careful." Two kicked at a rock, and winced as pain shot up his leg. "I should've listened to you—you warned me it might do that."

"That doesn't matter right now. I didn't think you'd listen anyway." One smiled a little as Two chuckled weakly. "We're just lucky that machine wasn't any closer when you set that...whatever-it-was off."

"Flare," Two corrected, more out of habit than anything else. "It's called a flare."

One resisted the urge to sigh. "Whatever. The point is, we should be glad to be alive right now—that thing could've turned us into scrap without a second thought."

"What do we do if it finds us again?" Two's voice was tinged with doubt. "The machines have always overlooked us before. What do we do now that they're starting to attack?"

One turned his optics away, pretending to scan for danger. He could feel the weight of _responsibility_ looming closer and closer over him with every word. How should he know? He was only a few months older than Two, at best—this situation was as new and frightening to him as it was to his brother. And yet, the younger stitchpunk was silent, expecting and waiting for a reply. "I don't know yet, Two. We'll think about it after we get you repaired."

The two of them ducked into the shadow of a dilapidated old building. Two took the opportunity to sink to the floor with a sigh of relief and pull out his needle—One hid another smile as he turned to search around for some kind of sturdy thread they could use to sew up his leg.

"One?"

"Yeah?"

"What _are_ we going to do?"

One scowled. "I told you we'd think about it later, there are more important things right now."

"But this _is_ important," Two insisted, tapping his needle against the floor. "It's just like you said earlier—if the machines ever catch us, we're done for."

One didn't want this...but it seemed as though there was nothing else he could do. He was the eldest, which meant... He stared at the half-used spool of thread he'd just picked up, considering his words carefully. Then he straightened and took a deep breath, feeling something settle over him like a physical weight as he began to speak.

"We can't run from them. They're too fast, and they're programmed to chase anyone and anything that runs—which means us now, too. But we can't fight them, either, not the two of us alone. So the only option we really have is to hide until they run down."

"And what about the others?" Concern was the expression on Two's face as One approached with the thread, mixed with anxiety and the faintest hints of fear. "There _will_ be more soon, I know it. And you know it too. What will happen to them?"

"We'll find them, of course." One threaded the needle and handed it back to Two, nodding in reply to his brother's murmured thanks. "There's safety in numbers. We'll band together and keep each other safe until things change."

Silence descended over them, in which One allowed his mind to wander as Two stitched himself back together. Others _would_ come soon enough, Two was proof of that. Maybe if they could all stay together, however many of them there were, they would make it. Maybe, despite everything that was happening—the machines, the war, the uncertainty of their future (or whether they even _had _a future)—they actually had a chance.

"How long will it be until things change?"

One pondered that question for a long moment. Then he smiled again, even as the burden settled lower and heavier on his shoulders than ever before. "I don't know. But if I have any say in the matter, we're all going to be alive and kicking when they do."


	5. Ours

Thank you all, and welcome back to another exciting episode of Stitches! I know this is the third time I've written from Five's point of view, but I'll be changing things up soon, I swear. xDDD

**NOTES:**

Two and Five. Gotta love 'em. X3 Once again, no pairing intended, but take as you wish. ^^

* * *

**Ours**

"So you like tinkering, hmm?"

That was the start of the first proper conversation Two and Five ever had, although at that particular moment in time Five could only wonder if he was about to get in serious trouble. He had been wandering the church, trying to get used to moving around with only one eye (it was hard, but he knew he had to work at it or he'd never figure it out) when he had stumbled upon...well, his first thought was 'Heaven'. The workshop was enormous by his standards, with blueprints tacked up on the walls and parts and pieces scattered across tables and all over the floor. It was complete chaos, but a chaos he recognized—so for at least half an hour he delved through the mess, delighted, without ever noticing that the room's occupant had at some point returned.

The two of them had eventually got around to talking, once Two had finally convinced the younger stitchpunk that he was a friend and wasn't about to turn him over to Eight or One. He was an inventor of sorts, he'd explained to Five, as well as the resident repairman...although it was getting harder for him to do too much alone nowadays.

His tone of voice when he said that had made Five look up, to see that the elder had been regarding him thoughtfully. "How would you like to be my apprentice?"

"M-Me?" Five had stammered. "But I don't _really_ know anything about making things, I just...experiment..."

"That's good enough for me," Two had said with a kind smile. "A love of experimenting is the first step. You can learn the rest, that's what being an apprentice means. What do you say?"

Of course he had said yes, Five mused, tilting the glass lens in his hands so that it caught the sunlight. That had probably been one of the best decisions he had ever made. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks, but he had already learned so much—both about the inventions Two had planned for their home, and about Two himself. The old stitchpunk was stubborn, but resourceful...and once he got an idea in his head, it never really left. Like this telescope, for instance.

"Pass that lens up to me, will you?"

Five complied with a little smile. Two had insisted that his apprentice let him do most of the physical work, when he could manage it. Apparently he had been planning this project it for quite a while, but he'd been in no condition to scout far enough away from the church to find the parts he needed. Seven had helped as best she could, but she was reluctant to stray too far in case One's "tyranny" got out of hand in her absence. And of course, One himself wouldn't go, nor would he allow Eight to. Foolish fantasies, the self-appointed leader called their ideas. Delusions. Pointless wastes of time and energy.

"He simply doesn't understand," Two had said, after One had caught Five returning from the Emptiness with supplies and given him quite a tongue-lashing. "He doesn't realize how important it is to expand our minds, and our capacity to build. He would be happy enough if we forgot the world outside, but I couldn't live like that, could you?"

The answer to that question was obvious. Five smiled to himself again, looking up at the platform, where Two was struggling to snap the lens into the end of the telescope tube. "Sure you don't want me to take care of that?"

"No, no, I've got it under control—oof!" The inventor staggered a little as the lens popped into place (Five was immediately glad he had thought to fix the base to the platform, or else Two would have taken a tumble along with their telescope). "Lousy, stubborn..." He brushed some dust off the tube, huffing, and slid down from the platform. "Well, it's in there good and tight now, believe me. What's next?"

Five consulted the blueprints...and grinned. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Two furrowed his brow, honestly puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean we're done. Finished." Five laughed, clapping his mentor on the shoulder as realization spread across his face. "Congrats, Two—she's a beauty."

"She is, isn't she?" Two chuckled, as though he had known all along, but there was an almost childlike wonder in his voice. "I never thought... But you know, I could never have built her without your help."

Five rubbed at the back of his neck, now somewhat flustered. "You would've found a way..."

"It wouldn't have gone nearly as fast. And it wouldn't have been nearly as fun, either." Two patted his shoulder. "You've got the heart of an inventor, my boy, and there's nothing like working with someone who loves it as much as I do. Now go on, try it out!"

"W-What?" Five protested as Two nudged him toward the platform. "But it's your telescope, shouldn't you—?"

"It's _our_ telescope," his mentor corrected. "And since I asked you to sit aside so often, it's only fair that I let you take the first look."

_Our telescope._ Five liked that thought. He'd always considered it Two's idea, Two's project, Two's telescope. But they had worked together on it, hadn't they? Student and teacher, two friends and one project, bringing it to life...

"Okay." Five climbed up onto the platform, smiling warmly at the elder stitchpunk. "But only because it's _both_ of ours." And he had the distinct feeling that they would be building a lot more together in the future.


	6. Runaway

Welcome back, guys! I know it hasn't even been a week yet, but dammit, when an idea opportunity like this jumps out at you, you _have_ to take it. xD Enjoy!

**NOTES:**

No ambiguous "potential" pairings here. The Six/twins and Five/Seven pairings are my strong, official, YES THEY ARE TOGETHER FOR REALS pairings for this particular collection of stories. Sorry gaiz! I'll have some more ambiguous stuff for you soon. xDDD

* * *

**Runaway**

Seven had assumed that, upon her return to the church, she would be alone. It wasn't a foolish assumption to make; as far as she knew, none of the others would dare venture outside after dark. Even she was usually wary of straying too far, but she had made an exception this time, staying out until well after sunset so as to avoid the inevitable confrontation with One for as long as possible.

She paused near the burnt-out doors and turned to stare back out at the Emptiness. Its call was beginning to grow stronger than ever. Danger, yes, there was more than enough danger out there, but there was also _freedom._ Maybe if things were different...

Her thoughts were so far away that she didn't hear the soft patter of footsteps until they were almost on top of her. She whirled, gripping her spear and letting out a fierce snarl—and was startled when the approaching figure let out a cry of fright. There was a soft _thump_ as it hit the ground, scrabbling noises as it backed against the wall, whimpering—

"_Six?_" The spear clattered harmlessly to the ground. Six flinched away from her as she dropped to her knees beside him, and she cursed mentally—she'd scared the poor thing half to death. "It's all right," she murmured, patting his shoulder as soon as he let her close. "I didn't mean to scare you like that. I won't hurt you, you know that."

"I...I know." Six managed a tremulous smile. "It's okay. Good to be fast. Reflex. Keeps you alive out there."

Seven chuckled wryly. That was true enough, although Six certainly was no threat. She helped him to his feet, brushing the worst of the dust off his back. "What are you doing out here?"

Six looked away, but not before Seven caught his expression growing abruptly serious. "Knew you were coming back. Had to come warn you before..."

"Warn me? Of what?" Alarm bells were beginning to go off in Seven's mind, probably a little too late. "What's happened?"

"One is..." Six winced a little, rubbing at his shoulder. It was only then that Seven noticed the new stitching along the seam of his arm. She hadn't seen it before in the darkness, but now that she was looking she realized the threads were a different color than before (and there was no mistaking Five's neat stitchwork).

Her vision went red.

She must have looked as furious as she felt, because Six cringed again, backing up a few paces. "He's mad," the seer mumbled, clutching at his key. "Been mad all day. Made me tell where you went. Wouldn't tell him when you came back, so Eight..." He shuddered violently. Seven gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and he smiled weakly before continuing. "They're waiting. Won't let you get around. Bad bad bad."

"I can take them." Seven picked up her spear again, a grim little smile on her face. "Eight knows I'm the better fighter, and One wouldn't dare challenge me himself. I'll be fine."

"No you won't!" The desperation in Six's voice made her pause, and he took that opportunity to latch onto her arm, preventing her from leaving. "Not fights, no! Traps! You won't make it, I saw! I _saw!_"

Traps? Had One really stooped so low as to attempt to _trap_ her, like some kind of animal? The thought made her very essence sing out with fury. She was no dumb beast. She had already proven that she could not be caged. But right now she had to keep her head. "Where did he find _traps?_"

Six hesitated, nervous tension humming through his grip on her arm. "Five," he said reluctantly. "Forced Five to make them. Eight would've hurt him too if he hadn't..."

It was more than anger that gripped Seven's chest now. One had gone too far. She had made a vow to never bend to his tyranny, but now both Six and Five had become victims because of her. What could she _do?_

"He's okay," Six said hesitantly. "Five is. Did what they told him to. He's okay."

Seven managed a smile. There it was again, that uncanny knack Six had to know exactly what people were thinking. "That's good to know. Thank you."

"You can't go up there."

Seven stared down at him for a long moment, and let out a soft sigh. "I have to. What other choice is there?"

"Leave."

It took a few seconds for her to realize that Six was serious. But leaving was an option Seven had sworn she would never consider. If she left, who would be there to stand up to One and Eight? She shuddered to think of the things they might do if she weren't there to stop them.

"You know I can't do that," she said gently. "I have to stay here to protect you, I can't just run away."

"Not running," Six insisted. "Our turn. Let us save you. Don't get caged. _Go._"

"But..." He was adamant, the way he was when what he had to say was important to the point of life or death. Seven shook her head—she didn't want to believe him, but she didn't really have a choice. He had never been wrong before. "Isn't there any other way?"

"I'm sorry," Six mumbled sadly. He hesitated, gripping at his key again. "He...he wasn't going to. Five wasn't. He wasn't going to make the traps, but I told him you'd be okay, I promised. You have to listen, I _promised._"

Seven almost smiled—the idea of Five standing up to One was something she never would have thought could happen, but it would have been an impressive feat of bravery for him. Maybe she was rubbing off on him after all.

That thought made her proud, and more than a little sad. It was only by exerting her steel force of will that she kept herself from imagining how shattered he would be if she just...left.

Six was still gripping at his key, and Seven knew he was struggling with himself, searching for words to say. He'd never been good with words—his pictures usually spoke for themselves. She waited as patiently as she could, until he finally looked away, arms falling to his sides.

"Take them with you." His voice was almost inaudible.

Seven blinked. "Take...who?"

"Them. The twins. Take them, you have to." Six tilted his head back, staring up at what Seven realized was the window looking out of Three and Four's room. "Bad things coming. They can't stay."

Seven put her hand on Six's shoulder. "I can't take them and leave the rest of you behind."

Six shook his head vehemently. "We have to stay here. Have to. Saw it all. They have to be safe. Safe with you. You have to take them."

He was doing a good job at hiding it, but it hurt him to say that. Seven knew that Three and Four were the most precious things in his entire universe. Asking her to take them away was asking her to tear his universe apart, and it was the hardest and most selfless thing he could ever have done.

A rush of motherly warmth flooded through her, and she drew the seer into an embrace, murmuring...something, she wasn't sure what. Maybe that he didn't have to worry about them. Maybe that everything would be all right. Whatever it was, it made Six's trembling fade away, and he slowly returned the embrace.

They stood there for a minute or two, enveloped in silence. Then Seven stepped resolutely away, knocking her helmet down over her eyes. "I'll keep them safe. I promise."

Unbidden, an image flashed before her eyes—Five pacing the watchtower, peering into the telescope every few moments in the hopes that something, anything, had changed. It had been an amusing thought back when he had first revealed (shyly) that he always watched for her return whenever she went out on her scouting missions. Now it just made her ache. What would he do when he realized she wasn't coming back?

"Tell Five..."

She hesitated, but Six was already nodding vigorously. She embraced him one last time, sympathy flowing through her at the dejected slump of his shoulders as he turned and walked away. He was strong though; it was a different kind of strength than hers, but just as fierce. He would be all right.

Seven set her jaw and began to scale the wall to Three and Four's room. For Six's sake, she would protect them with her life. And someday, when the machines were no longer the greatest threat, she would return to this place and rescue the others as well.

Someday.


End file.
